Something Bad
by ultrafreakyfangirl
Summary: There was just something about it. It could be a lot of things, a whole myriad of things, but it's not; it, as it were, is the way Joe Caputo moans.


**_Author's Note: This takes place somewhere in the beginning of season 3. It's an origin story of their hate sex. So, smut. Obviously. Take that as you will. _**

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There was just something about it. It could be a lot of things, a whole myriad of things, but it's not; _it_, as it were, is the way Joe Caputo moans.

The mere thought sent tingles of disgust down her spine, but when she was down on her knees, her mouth around his dick like a fucking _Baby Bottle Pop_, manipulating him into silence with her tongue, she felt his hand on her head, deliberate, commandeering; his moans were parched, raspy with a sexual thirst and a degrading lust, yet she found herself desperate, to please, to suck harder, to let him mouth-fuck her, and when he hit her gag reflex, she felt her fucking nipples _get hard. _

How was she supposed to know that her burning, intense, hatred for the man would turn her on like this, would make the thought of fucking him seem mildly enjoyable. The answer was that she wasn't. She was never supposed to get the opportunity to find out but finding out her husband was very likely fucking his male assistant like some weird, fucking, inclusive teen movie, really did change things.

So, it was simple. When he came to see her the next time, likely to taunt her with the fact that whatever shit he had on her was now in the hands of the warden, she would fuck him. She was like a three-year-old and a hot burner. She had no other reason to put her hand on it, other than she wanted _to know what it felt like. _

And while she was fucking Joe, she could think about how her husband would never know, never know that another man was touching his wife, telling her to _get his dick out of her mouth before he fucking comes._

The thought alone was exhilarating, so much that when she saw Joseph Caputo at her office door hours later, her eyes drifted to the belt he wore around his waist, and how it would be put to much better use when it was off, and _repeatedly smacking her bare ass, _because she, Natalie Figueroa, _embezzled millions of dollars out of this prison's funding_, and she was ready for her punishment.

Sex with Jason started with kissing, _lazy, run-of-the-mill bullshit,_ but Natalie already knew that sex with Joe would start _much differently._

She imagined it rough. Really fucking rough. The feeling of his hand on her head from earlier came back, his fingers digging sharply into her scalp, but now it was on her chest, scraping along the pallor of her skin, his mouth leaving bruises on her breasts, to her thighs, and then he was returning the fucking favor, the feeling of his breath, hot with the anticipation of sex, against her.

His fingers, ones she had assumed to be dainty and feminine were _absolutely not_ as they worked themselves inside of her, and this part, she wasn't imagining, because she could feel it at her core, pulsing rushing, aching for the need to be touched. She was absolutely, one hundred percent, wet for him.

She was wet for _Joe Fucking Caputo,_ and there was no use in trying to pretend otherwise, in trying to convince herself that thoughts of her husband could get her like this, because they _couldn't._ This was a different kind of aroused; it came from doing something that you know that you should not be doing, under any circumstances. It was the rush to _feel alive._

She was sick of feeling like shit because of Jason, how he would rather have a twenty-something man's love, or sex, or whatever the fuck they were doing with each other, than her own.

She knew that Joe – as disgusted as she was with herself – would make her feel good, and if he didn't make her feel like she was worthy again, in the way she wanted to, and he wouldn't, because he was still _fucking Caputo_, he could at least make her feel worthy in the way of someone to fuck.

She was good at sex, she knew that, but it stood to remain that Jason thought less than that, if he had to search for dick, but she knew that Joe would believe her, he'd believe her because she was for sure better than his own fucking hand.

For a minute, she wondered if he used his right or his left, if he twisted or pumped, and what he thought about with each stroke of his dick, what he thought about when he played with his fucking balls under his desk.

Without any sort of warning, she was thrown into this fantasy that maybe, after this, it could be her. She would rock his world so good, he'd have no choice but to groan _her name_ as he comes into the palm of his hand, his skin, his thoughts, his labored breaths, all sticky with release and dried sweat, because she was a _fucking goddess._

Natalie put her palms against her desk for leverage and bit her lip.

"Do you think about me?"

He looked at her in disbelief. "Do I what?"

She sighed. He was so dense, sometimes. Fucking frustrating. She spoke more slowly, clear, and bold.

"Do you think about me. When you're_ alone, _with the lights off – or on, fuck, I don't know what your kink is. Do you think about me when you hold your dick?"

She paused to grab him overtop his dress pants. "Do you think about me when you scratch your fingernails along your shaft?"

As she spoke, Natalie started to do those things. He let out a garbled moan in response to each one.

"When you flick your tip, or reach below the Beer Can and play with your fucking balls like a teenage boy? _Hm? Do you think of me?"_

He breathed out. Loud. Shaky. "What do you want me to say, Fig? What would get you off right now? That you're Satan's reincarnate and – "

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth at an obvious onslaught of feeling overcame him.

"- tell you that I would be lying if I haven't imagined it once or twice, _fucking you, _having you beg me for it, and hearing you call out my name as I take you to the brink, by dick buried inside of you, so deep that you can feel it against your _fucking cervix_…"

Natalie scrunched up her nose. "Ew, what the fuck, Joe? Never let me hear that word come out of your mouth again."

Right now, he was as hard as she's ever felt against the palm of her hand, and maybe she should have been alerted to her husband's apparent homosexuality by the way that, even though the man hates her, his dick is still harder for her than Jason's had ever been.

Somehow, the thought was turning her on even more, though Joe's words did help a little. She would never tell him that, though. It would go straight to his head.

She took her skirt and moved it up along her waist, shimmying both for the ease of it and to give him a little private show before the main event. He's been a good boy. He deserved it. She'd planned for this, yet another reason she disgusted herself, and today alone; she was bare underneath her tight, little skirt, _just for him. _

"Show me."

"Holy _shit_."

He stared unabashedly at her, exposed in front of him, and she couldn't help but give him a coquettish smile. He wasn't the only one tricks up his sleeve. Or, in this case, _down his pants._

"_Show me_ how you imagine yourself fucking me. Show me how deep you go, how you use your hands, your fingers, to get me _closer and closer._ Show me what it _feels like_ to have you inside of me and _make me say your name. _Like fucking _Beetlejuice._ Three times, unbroken."

He did that thing with his lips again, biting, sucking in a sharp breath. _"Fuck." _

"Turn me around. I can't look at you when we're doing this. I'll go soft."

He scoffed. "_You'll_ go soft?"

He took her hips roughly in his hands and spun her around, so that she was flush against the desk. She felt her ribs hit the edge, and she couldn't help but gasp aloud. He bent over to whisper in her ear. "_Someone's_ ready."

He rocked forward and back against her, teasingly, each time his dick barely touching her. She gasped again, each time, the closer he got. "Jesus, Joe. Just _do it."_

He chuckled darkly, his mouth fluttering around her pulse point before he took it in between his lips and sucked greedily. He pulled on her hair. "Ask nicely, _you bitch."_

His tip continued to tease her entrance and she shut her eyes tight, hoping that she could distract herself with _anything, anything at all_, so that the overwhelming feeling would be less intense.

The degrees on her wall, the winter coat she was this close to buying, and when that didn't work, she thought about sweat stains, the prison showers, which then made her think about the inmates, and then, intrusively, like a fucking sucker punch to the gut, her thoughts turned to her husband, holding that man's face with his hands, _like he loved him_, the way he used to hold hers.

"Please," she practically whimpered. "I need you to do this. I need you to make me feel sexy, again."

And he did. He sucked her skin in a way Jason never would have, every inch of her neck, what he could reach of her chest, and while every thrust was a motivation for release, it was also somehow slower, as If he was savoring the feel of her body, tight and hot, against him, around him, inside of him.

He didn't say anything, not a word, and that made it so she could live with herself, but when he came, quick and dirty, not unlike the way he was fucking her, she felt disgusted, but also revitalized, because it meant that even if Jason didn't want her like this anymore, another man would, another man_ did_, not that he would be any sort of a contender, for her.

"Same time and place, tomorrow?"

So, when he said that to her, more like grunted it, into her ear, the words themselves tired and lewd in a way she found almost unattractive – the amount of men in bars who used that as a pick-up line in her twenties was astounding, she fought against her better judgement because despite the fact that this was Joe Caputo, despite the fact that she was his superior (even though that could be a kink), and despite the fact that what she - what they – just did was absolutely, fucking gross, she still found herself wanting to do it again. Just one more time.

"I have a meeting with the warden. Your place?"

He raised his eyebrows. He seemed surprised. As he should be. The man was no Magic Mike. "Uh – sure. Yeah."

She nodded. "One rule. No dinner bullshit."

He nodded too. "I can work with that. Besides, you'll be getting your fill some other way."

Natalie sighed. She was disappointed. While it was with him, in this moment for saying something so moronic, it was with herself, more. What the fuck was she doing? Since when did her standards take such a dive? _Since you found out your husband would rather be fucking a man than fucking you._

"I maintain what I said before. You should never speak."

Joe smirked at her. "I can work with that, too."

Natalie rolled her eyes and pushed her hands against his chest. "Great. We'll make a great team. Now get the fuck out of my office before I have you escorted out."

He raised his hands in surrender with a wink in her direction. "As you wish, _Natalie_."

She threw his shirt at him as her only response.

"And take your fucking ugly shirt with you. The pattern is giving me a headache."

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**_Author's Note: As always, review, review, review! Hope you guys liked it! _**


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